Luck it!

What is the deal with luck?
Well, at least for me, this is how it was.When I was a little girl, seven years old or so, I was on the phone with my friend the evening before the much-feared Math exam. I chirped a 'Best of luck' before hanging up. And almost immediately, my father was upon me. Telling me why, 'All the best' was a better alternative. Why one must never depend on luck. Why luck as a concept was for those who didn't have faith in themselves. Alright Daddy, taken. Any place luck had in my life was vanquished by good sense. And so litte Noosh grew up to be this girl who would henceforth always cautiously avoid phrases like, 'best of luck', 'what a terrible stroke of luck', 'luckily for me' and the like. I invariably end up cutting my nails on a Tuesday night, much to my perima's chagrin and in college, I was the girl who had this uncanny habit of turning up in black at the start of every semester (much against my mom's plead. If luck is impossible, me changing twice at 6.30 in the morning is laughable).

Well, dear Noosh, luck does exist.
My father dropped the bomb on me today. My little dog having died, I was talking about getting a companion for Lola, our other dog. And my dad, shook his head pensively and said, 'Never again. We just don't have luck with dogs. First it was Velvet (who met with an accident, became a quardiplegic and had to be put to sleep after 4 years of suffering) and now Tin Tin. The luck is just not right.' But Daddy... 'No'
So is luck subject to time? Nay, nay. Luck is completely subject to one's convenience. When everything goes your way and every wispy strand of hair is firmly in its place, luck can take a hike. But one bad thing, and, 'what terrible luck.' Really? Is this how fickle-minded we are? Do we really need to blame an external source, whether or not it really exists, for our inadequacies? For our lack of courage? For lacking the strength to accept reality and move on? For our inefficiencies? For our imperfections? For our very existance? Well, I may not be a lot of things, but one thing I am. I am a person who takes responsibility for her actions and their (often) dire consequences. I may not be efficient, perfect or brave but I sleep better at night knowing that the problem lies with me. That the problem can be rectified because it is in my hands. Blaming luck would mean surrendering my life to the whims and fancies of something that I have never seen substantiated. It is just a crazy man's tangential stupidity.
But Loosh (my scheming alter-ego) asks me. 'So how do you explain how I got the first place in the Bible contest way back in 11th Std, when I hadn't even opened the Bible?' I think, muse, cogitate. Probability, you evil thing, probability! Multiple choice questions...probability, for sure.
Loosh grins at me maliciously. 'Ok Noosh. So explain why you never keep your legs on a pillow? Is it because perima told you long back that if you sat on or kept your legs atop a pillow, your appa wouldn't reach his final destination safe?' Why do you never cross over an elder's leg? Scared of what bad luck it might bring?' Ok, guilty. But not as charged.
There are things you do simply out of habit, and also so you don't end up upsetting anyone else. I attach no importance to these acts.
The bottomline is, I believe in life. I believe that man invented all that he has invented, not by a mere stroke of luck, but by a stroke of genius. I believe that exams are passed or failed not because of luck, but because of the presence or absence of application. I believe that the mess I am in is all because of me. I blame myself entirely. I am to blame. And I have the full power in my hands to change things as I please. I feel liberated.

As for you Daddy, does the 'luck' stop here?